Page 16 of Sweet Home

“Abracadabra,”Dulcie said. “Princess pancakes, appear.”

“Can I open my eyes?” Elizabeth asked excitedly.

“Open your eyes,” Dulcie told her.

Elizabeth removed her other hand from her eyes and her mouth dropped open.

“Wow,” she breathed, looking down at the pink pancake batter with sprinkles.

“Great job, Lilibet,” Dulcie told her, offering her a high five.

“Who’s Lilibet?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.

Dulcie looked up to find West standing there, observing them with a bemused expression on his handsome face.

Her heart skipped a beat, for no reason she could understand.

“I’mLilibet,” Elizabeth squeaked, before Dulcie could overthink it.“Iam.”

Dulcie couldn’t help smiling as she gazed down at the funny little girl. Making pancakes with a little kid in a stranger’s kitchen was about a million miles from what she thought she might end up doing today.

But it was nice.

6

WEST

West stood in his own kitchen doorway, feeling like he must have stepped into someone else’s house.

The waif of a girl he’d thought he was rescuing last night was smiling and helping his daughter make pancakes, looking as capable and comfortable in his kitchen as any member of his family might.

And his normally dead-serious four-year-old washowlingwith laughter and even more surprisingly, she was letting herself be called by a nickname.

“Are you making pancakes?” he asked stupidly, not sure what else to really say.

“I hope it’s okay,” Dulcie replied, her confident expression faltering a little. “You had all the ingredients…”

“It’sgreat,” he told her. “I love pancakes.”

“Itoldyou, Dulcie,” Elizabeth said triumphantly. “I told you Daddy loves pancakes.”

“Guess you were right, Lilibet,” Dulcie told her. “Smart cookie.”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “Smart pancake.”

Then she barked out a nice loud laugh at her own joke.

Dulcie laughed too, and West couldn’t help noticing again how pretty she was. She also looked reassuringly more her age after a good night’s sleep.

An age which is still too young for you to notice that she’s pretty,he reminded himself.

But he also couldn’t help noting with a pang of satisfaction that she was wearing his apron. Though he wasn’t sure why he would feel any kind of way about her wearing his clothes.

She needs some clothes of her own.

That duffel bag of hers wasn’t nearly heavy enough to have good winter clothes in it. Right now, she was wearing a faded pair of worn-thin jeans and a top that might pass for a sweater down south, but would hardly keep her warm even indoors during a Vermont winter.

“I started some coffee,” she told him, nodding at the machine where a full pot sat waiting.

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